


Outlines

by winterscaptsam



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Artist Finn, First Kiss, M/M, Poe is his muse, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterscaptsam/pseuds/winterscaptsam
Summary: Love. Finn quickly figures and it hurts him to his core because for the sake of stars above, he doesn’t know how to draw love.OrFinn draws and find himself wanting to draw Poe like he imagines him.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 165





	Outlines

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so in short this idea sprung on me and I am a horrible artist, like honestly my stars look like- besides the point, point is that in my head Finn is the best artist in the universe and then...well, this happened.

The first time Finn saw a drawing he was nine years old, in and out of sleep as a group of the older ‘troopers were murmuring quietly in the darkness. All huddled around a crumpled piece of paper, ripped at the sides as FN-2199 held onto it tightly. Pencil outlines drawn into the brown paper, shaded grey what looked like a sun, a lightly drawn house with four figures that looked like the sketch of a family. 

Finn figured it was the village they had just raided. 

A family that will only live on in paper till Phasma burns it to the ground. As they did their homes.

That night, he wanders how alive you can make a person with the sketch of their figure alone.

xXx

When Finn first arrives to the hangars he thinks its just about beautiful to draw. Pilots all suited up, leaning back on their x wings mid conversation, orange jumpsuit dirtied with gasworks and engines. 

Poe. 

Stepping out of his own x-wing, smile on his face, curls wet with sweat as he walks towards Finn, helmet held in his right side and it mixes, Finn thinks, the white and orange of his suit next to the bright blue shine of the sky above. 

He thinks it was made just for Poe, to make him shine above all others. 

Hesitantly, reaching out his fingers to mid air, Finn draws. He imagines the grey outline sketching Poe’s tallness, curving slightly at his hips till drawing sharp and delicate to his jaw, lightly scribbling into his curls. 

He draws Poe in the air with his fingers. 

“What’re you doing there, buddy?” The same bright chirp that is always there, Finn can smell the hard work off of him. 

“Drawing you. Walking towards me,” he confesses but hides his hands in his pockets, fiddling with the inside fabric, reluctant to bite back his bottom lip, Poe does instead. The same way he had done when they first reunited, Finn thinks if Poe bites down any harder his lips will bleed and he’s not sure if he has the skill to ~~draw in~~ imagine small drops of blood into raw pink softness. 

“Drawing, huh?” And he’s got this look on his face, the type that melts Finn’s heart yet makes him freeze all the same. 

The next morning Finn finds a sketchbook and a pack of coloring pencils on his table. 

_I wanna see what’s inside that head of yours, Finn. Surprise me ;)_

_Poe_

It’s silly, that he finds himself smiling at how his name looks in Poe’s handwriting. Small and cursive to the right. 

xXx

_Shit._

Sure, Finn had drawn before. Pencil being his fingers and paper being the air of space around him. He’d never actually drawn pencil to paper, thought to image, dreams to reality. Not even doodles at the edges of worksheets. 

And now he’s scared Poe’ll have got him this for nothing. That there’s no talent that travels in his fingers and just because he can see something, trace it in air doesn’t mean he can translate its beauty to paper. 

But he tries anyway. Because Poe brought him this gift and he intends to use it well.

First, he draws the stormtrooper helmet. He’s careful, moving his hand along ever so slowly as the pencil shows light lengthy traces, focuses hard on the paper in front of him, of the image in his head. 

And then he stops. 

Pencil stuck on the paper, he presses any harder and it’ll rip through, he stops and thinks for a moment. 

It looks real, not sure if it’s good but Finn’s lifetime he’d been surrounded by those helmets so he’s sure as hell it looks real. 

“I can do this,” he whispers, loud enough he’ll believe it. Drags his pencil from its spot, tracing the lines at a curve now. Shading in small cornered gaps, leaving one side of the helmet colored black in the eye and the other empty. 

He traces and traces till his fingers feel numb and pencil drops from between punctured hands. He lets out a small shaky breath, he’s done it now. He’s drawn. And he remembers the first sketch he’d ever seen. 

_Not us._

He writes on top of the helmet, closes the book. Neatly organizing the pencil back in its pack. 

And it feels weird, for Finn to say he felt free. Nothing holding him back as his fingers drew the movement of his brain, air passing through the switch of fingers as he moved onto another detail. Obsessing over every curve and straight line just as how he’d imagine it to turn out. 

What had started as a stormtrooper helmet turned into a shake of split ends. The contrast of white and black of a trooper took up half the page, that moment Finn had stopped, he carried on only to draw the details of Poe’s helmet. The shade of orange and clear sight to see unlike the darkness and closed off look on his once past helmet. 

Finn knows the difference between being forced to do the evil you were taught was right and being able to fly as you always wanted but he thinks they fall under the same sense when wearing the helmet. 

Limiting them. Equalizing them to the same as every other person that wears it but he knows, he knows it’s not the same but he also knows they are more than what they wear in their heads and what fills them. 

_We aren’t what we have done but what we have left to be seen._

And with that he closes the sketchbook. 

xXx

The second time Finn opens up the book, he doesn’t sketch anything, just writes his name over and over again. He wrote it how Poe made it sound, soft in the edges, calm enough to be cruisive but not calligraphic.

He writes Rey’s name underneath, block capitals like how strong she is, holding up her own while shading in the edges because as powerful as she is, she’s also the purest person he’s met. 

As he writes Rose, his fingers linger on the page at first, he tries for singular letters, all capitals, clear space between them. He’s not sure how, but he figures it suits her. Stronger than she thinks, he guesses. 

When he thinks of Poe’s name, he wonders how he can capture the internal beauty in it, how to translate stardust veins to three letters alone. If he can embody that much amount of power and love into words, he’s afraid this paper will be too fragile to hold all his thoughts of Poe. 

So, he doesn’t. Leaving the bottom space empty and cold without a name to occupy it. 

xXx

 _It doesn’t mean anything,_ that’s what Finn will tell himself when sleepless nights turn to comfort in touch. Poe’ll find himself walking into Finn’s quarters, slipping underneath the bed covers to Finn’s approval, murmuring nothingness they’ll forget in the morning. 

“Is this okay?” 

And something about the thickness of Poe’s voice makes Finn want to pull him into his arms and never let go. 

_More than okay,_ is stuck at the edge of his lips, “yeah,” he whispers instead. 

“Can I- would you mind if I touched you?” Poe’s voice rich in honey, like the only innocence in the darkened room and Finn realizes what he wants, what he’s asking for. 

Their hands are just mere spaces apart, a clear gap haunting between them and Poe lays there, scared of unwanted contact. Instinct before thought rushes through Finn as he closed the gap, intertwined his fingers in between rough hands that has only seen a hard days of work, he aches to soften it. 

Finn turns to his side, eyes focusing on Poe’s figure despite the darkness of the room and shadowed lights of the hallway outside. He takes it in, the rise and fall of his chest, slow and in pace with Finn’s own breathing, his familiar musky smell, he holds on tighter, fights back the smile on his lips when he feels Poe do the same. 

“I had a dream, yknow,” Poe breaks the silence, doesn’t make an effort to move, lays still in focusing at the ceiling above. 

“About?” 

“I took you to meet my old man, back home in Yavin 4. I showed you where I grew up, my _home._ All of it,” 

And it takes all of Finn to not blurt out _I want to meet your father, I want to see, feel the grounds you grew up in beneath my feet,_ let’s Poe finish instead, rubbing circles with his thumb at the palm of Poe’s hands. 

“But ‘s just a dream,” Poe finishes and there’s something in his voice, Finn’s not sure what, that flinches in pain at the words, as though they’re too painful to speak aloud and it took all his strength to even mutter them to Finn in the darkness. “You don’t have to take it seriously,” 

Finn can feel the pilot move his body around too, now both on their sides facing each other, sharing the contained space of air around them, breathing in each others delight they’re much too familiar with. 

What Finn wants to do is tighten his grasp on Poe’s hand, strong enough to take all the doubt and worry so it flows into his own veins, wants to whisper every goodness he can think of, wants to tell Poe he’d love to meet his father, see where he grew up and what made this pilot of love and guilt he wraps himself in for much too long. 

What he does, “we should go to sleep, you’ve got a long day ahead of you,” and turned to his other side, back facing Poe and eyes focusing on the spotted wall in front of him. He instantly feels the loss of warmth and comfort when their hands aren’t connected and he knows it wasn’t him who moved it away. 

xXx

For the first time, Finn feels _okay_. He likes it- the way Poe grabs at his wrist and pulls him into the mess hall, lets himself be dragged to the corner of the room, a part of him waiting to be told off for entering without permission but the better of him reminding him it’s okay, it’s fine, this isn’t the First Order. It doesn’t seem, feel like it. 

They definitely don’t act like it too. 

When they’re sat down, Poe opposite him, eyes glittered in excitement and lips curving up in a smile showing off his teeth, “try it,” he says and places a brown blocked _something_ in Finn’s hand. 

“What is it?” 

“Chocolate,” Poe says as though it answers everything. He’s looking up at Finn in awe, maybe expecting a reaction which Finn isn’t giving. 

“Chocolate?” He tests out the words, comes out more like a question and Poe’s watching his moves, nodding eagerly. 

He takes a bite, it’s rich and smooth against his tongue, melts instantly and turns into something light and cool, can’t help but close his eyes at how sweet it tastes.

He makes a sound, small and in pleasure of the taste can hear Poe shuffle a soft laugh, “good, right?”

“So, so good.” 

When Finn opens his eyes Poe’s still smiling at him, _watching_ , not as though he’s expecting anything but just relishing in the lightness of the moment. 

Glances lingering.

xXx

 _Love._ Finn quickly figures and it hurts him to his core because for the sake of stars above, he doesn’t know how to draw love. 

So he draws the closest thing to it instead.

Poe. 

The moment Finn finally draws Poe, it takes him the whole day, not because it’s a canvas or wet paint or detailed enough that you needed precision but because Finn wanted to get it right. 

But he doesn’t exactly draw _Poe, Poe._ More how he imagines him. To a certain extent. 

It’s- he’s a pilot, right? Flies out there and risks his life every damn time but does it anyway because, “it’s the only thing I love, only thing closest to my ma,” he’d say, and it suits him. 

The way his hair falls after every flight, how the musk of engines stick to him but is soon replaced by rosewood aroma yet not enough scrubs to wipe away the adrenaline that shows through his smile, through the stars that placed themselves in his eyes as soon as he set gaze upon them. 

First time Finn saw Poe fly felt magical, of course he’d seen him fly a ton of missions beforehand but this time it was like Poe had been putting on his own personal show, made it feel as though Finn was up there in the skies with him. 

It felt _good._ And for the first time when Finn uses the word he means it. 

So, when he first draws Poe he doesn’t colour him in orange or detail his helmet, doesn’t sketch the starred skies behind him as he walks with a sunshine of a smile because that can be anyone, hell, all the pilots here look like that. 

Instead, he draws Poe, crouched down with only the back of his curls at show and wings carving out against his back. Loud and full of promise just like how he flies, _like an angel, you fly like an angel,_ Finn thinks as sketches the melting lines and feathered details at each wings edge. 

_Flyboy._

He writes on top. Thinks he’ll say everything else aloud. It’s _good,_ doesn’t think it’s perfect but it’s okay because this is just practice, right? Only page three of the book, he’s still got a lot left to draw, to imagine, to sketch into reality. He likes it, the freedom in this art, it makes him feel alive and the stars know that’s a feeling he’s had the lack of. 

Finn sets out to thank Poe. For the book. For everything. 

Confidently, he walks towards Poe’s room, smiling at on goers who give him a shared look, holds his head up instead of down at the ground as he clutched onto the ripped out paper of his sketch, waiting for it to be held by Poe, it’s rightful owner he thinks, like a gift, _a thank you gift._

When he reaches, the door is open only revealing an empty room apart from Jess walking out, slow in her steps. “Ah, Finn,” she smiles, Finn notices the confidence in it, the comfort in herself, admires it in a way, “you just missed him,” 

“It’s alright. Is it okay if I leave this here?” 

She shrugs, pursing her lips, “doesn’t matter to me,” and walks off, probably towards the mess hall, he figures Poe’ll be there so he follows que before folding the paper and placing it on top of blue covers. 

He’s right. Poe is there, laughing loudly with arms all over the place as he gestures out a story. With him, Snap, the new addition of Jess jumping in next to Snap and Iolo who moves up a seat with a smug on his lips, leaving the space next to Poe empty- now occupied by Finn. 

“Good to see you down here, Finn.” Snap smiles at him, he’s always been kind, was the first to talk to him (apart from Poe and all the workers at medbday that is) and make it his own personal job to welcome Finn into the resistance base. Doesn’t take a genius to guess why everyone likes him, he’s a heart of gold with the soul eyes and kind smile to match. 

“Poe never shuts up about you so good to finally see what all the fuss is about,” Iolo adds in, chirping his head to the side, eyeing him up and down, as though he’s assessing him but he’s good at it- at not making Finn feel uncomfortable while he does so. 

_Wait. Poe talks about me?_ “I’m really not that fuss worthy,” a smile in between worried shock and _what does he mean Poe-_

Right on que, Poe bobs in to the conversation that weirdly, Jessika whose always one to comment is just observing, smile on her lips. 

“Cute.” Iolo says, “your boyfriend here thinks quite the opposite,” 

“Christ, Iolo! We’re not- he’s not- ignore him, he talks a lot. Doesn’t know what comes out his trap most’a the time and-“

“Wait. Hold up,” now Jess interjects as Finn watches anew because he’s still caught up on the last words. “So you two...aren’t?” 

“He’s not _my_ _boyfriend,”_ and Finn realizes he only says it to test out the word, it’s foreign to his lips but it sounds nice, guesses it would be nice as well. More than nice. 

“No, we aren’t Pava.” Poe sounds out, a slight and barley noticeable tremble in his voice and Finn wonders if sadness is right emotion to describe, maybe disappointment. He’s not sure though, so he doesn’t guess, doesn’t bother deciphering it. 

“Wow. You really need to sort your shit out Boss,” Jess says, too loudly or too confidently because Snap nudges her arms at it, she hisses but carries on, “I mean, we all do but I really thought- _nevermind.”_

Poe avoids talk and eye contact with Finn for the rest of the night. 

Finn regrets leaving his drawing now. 

xXx

It’s too late Finn figures because Poe is the first to retire off to his quarters, leaves with nothing but a smile that won’t reach the eyes, not like how they did when he had first caught eye of him. 

He doesn’t make an effort to get it back, Finn just stares blankly at the wall, thinking of any way to muster up an apology, doesn’t know what for but knows he wants to say sorry anyway. 

So, he walks back to Poe’s dorm, counting at all his steps, the hallway is filled with dimmed lights now and there are no passersby to offer a smile at, no reason to look ahead or below. He just walks. He’ll say whatever the moment urges him to. 

When he does find Poe, the door is half open as though it’d been wishing for Finn’s command to open-or close- fully. Poe is sat by the edge of his bed, the paper, _his_ paper in both hands and he’s looking down at it, Finn can’t quite tell what his face shows off but he notices wet paper when he sees it. 

The edges are wet as though dipped in small droplets of water and it’s only when Poe looks up absently at Finn that he realises Poe has been crying. 

And now he really has to say sorry. 

“Shit, Poe. I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, it was just a stupid sketch that I thought of, of you. It was supposed to be good because that’s how I saw, _see_ you. Sort of like an angel when you’re out there flying and I didn’t think, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” _I didn’t mean to make you cry,_ he wants to say, “I’ll go,” he says instead. 

But Poe swallows back the lump in his throat, voice hoarse trickles out a “no,” and let’s his hands fall loosely to Finn’s wrist. Knows Finn can easily pull and walk away but doesn’t. Just watched back, both their eyes ridden with a sadness, they just aren’t sure what of. 

“It’s not you, buddy.” Poe offers, attempts at clearing his voice, pulls Finn softly towards him so they’re sitting beside one another at the beds edge like a zip wire, careful at every move in case they fall. In this case it was their words they troubled to balance on. “It’s beautiful, it’s- it’s beyond that.” And although he wipes away the tears his brown eyes can’t help but collect more, “you’re sweet, Finn. To sweet. And you shouldn’t- I’m not worth all the sweetness ‘s all it is.” 

The words don’t calculate, nothing does. Because all Finn can see is an honest man with all the goodness in his eyes he fails to see and Finn, for the sake of all the stars above, can’t help but fall for him, for all of him. 

So he does the only thing he can. 

Finn kisses him. Pushing his lips forward at the parted gap that begged for entry, pulsing his lips into a movement against Poe’s own chapped yet soft lips, let’s his hands venture up between the locks of curls at the back of his head and bumping into each others space, he finds himself he doesn’t mind, quite likes it actually.

But Poe pulls back, just a moment. as he tries to comprehend of the seconds that had just passed.

His lips are still slightly parted, letting out heavy breaths as he keeps his palm firm on the base of Finn’s cheek, he pushes their lips back together. 

Sucking at his bottom lip, letting his free hand slide up underneath Finn’s jacket, roaming around at the space of his back as they kiss again and again and again. Falling onto the bed with only a second part as Poe straddles on top of Finn, extending their arms above them as Finn lays out underneath him, smile mirroring on his face. 

It was soft yet messy and hot. And Finn knows he could just about do this forever, like he could taste the freedom of the sky off of Poe’s lips, breath the same air as the stars as Poe breathed into him. Their lips marched together, rough and hungrily pushing for more, sucking red at the others lips, clicking their tongue as they battled for space. It was quick and it sent a rush down his veins. 

Finn stops, sure he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t because the feel of Poe on his thighs, on his lips, sucking at each softness and letting his tongue nap out his mouth- he can feel his heart, more than he’d like too. 

But in an indescribable yet sensational type of way, he likes the feeling of his heart pounding at his chest, given the reason that is. 

“Sorry,” Poe catches his breath, lips red and swollen and Finn can’t help but smile at the masterpiece, knows exactly how he’ll draw it out later, maybe paint if he can get the right supplies. 

“No. No, don’t be. _Really,_ I- that was amazing.” Finn can’t help but blurt out because anything less would be a lie on his part. 

“Yeah?” And Poe’s voice is as though he doesn’t quite believe it, small and shy to ask. 

“Yeah,” Finn smiles. 

They lay like that, backs on soft mattresses and eyes stuck on the wall still in disbelief but their hands stay connected, stay intertwined because both are scared once they let go, they’ll lose this moment forever. 

It feels _good_ and this time he genuinely means it. 

xXx

The next six pages of his sketchbook are filled with testing of colors, orange and blue at most because Poe said those were his favorite. 

His first painting has blue skies, Poe in his orange suit up and Finn in the light pale brown of Poe’s- now his- jacket. Smiles on their faces that are as bright as Finn painted them to be. 

There are, of course, countless mistakes which Finn blames on the stolen kisses Poe would take every five minutes, or every new stroke of color.

Because sunsets and moonlights not as near beautiful as it is to draw Poe Dameron, fragile hands sketching over intimate detail only Finn could capture. 

He finds Poe to be his muse. 

To everything. 

And it takes all of Poe’s strength to not tear up again. 

He keeps the first sketch, his angel winged portrait next to his bedside, sticks it up on wall much to Finn’s disapproval when he moves his own stuff in. 

xXx

Finn was nine years old when he saw his first drawing. That night, he wondered how alive you can make a person with the sketch of their figure alone.

And now he knows. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping y’all enjoyed this one :) let me know x
> 
> Catch me on tumblr as @justficsandstuff


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